Straying Into A Dream
by Rosiekins
Summary: A flowery depiction of how I *imagine* Aragorn and Arwen fell in love. This may be the most hopelessly romantic story you could ever hope to read...written, for there isn't enough of these two out there! Romance novel stuff inside! (NEW NOTES ADDED.)


TITLE: Straying Into A Dream  
  
GENRE: Romance novel romance (without the 'loooove making'; sorry, too soon)  
  
PAIRING: Arwen and Aragorn, of course.  
  
RATING: PG-13; for people with longer attention spans.  
  
WARNINGS: If detailed descriptions of how good of kissers Aragorn and Arwen are offends you, please look no further...  
  
SASSY NEW NOTE: Ugh, people. I feel like the village idiot here. I'll read the books as fast as I can and write more HISTORICALLY CORRECT fanfiction. But for now, could everyone just not mention anymore about the facts? It's starting to make me want to throw things. BELIEVE ME, I get the hint. I got it all wrong (though I appreciate the info; I'll be buying "The Return of the King" ASAP). But I still like my story, on its own grounds (though I'm about one impulsive decision (or review) away from printing it out and burning it).   
Oh yeah...Arwen asks Aragorn a bunch of questions not because of ignorance, but because she is neurotic and obsessive, and needs to be reassured constantly. No, no. She's an elf, her brain chemistry is in all the right places. Um, I wrote those scenes because I was 'pretending'...oh, never mind, it is a long story, and I shan't make excuses. Maybe she just wants to watch his pretty mouth move? And no, this has nothing to do with my crush on Viggo Mortensen. And her wimpiness, boo hooey-ness? What can I tell you? It's just how I interpreted her character through the movie (meaning, I can see her getting emotional). And it makes for good romance. But in my next story, Aragorn will run to her room crying, and she will give him warm milk and graham crackers, okay?  
  
P.S: I love you all dearly. I'm glad I'm getting reviews. I would have thrown a fit if I hadn't, though I wouldn't have admitted so. Please don't be mad at me; if I were to read this note to you, you'd see I'd be using a silly/exited voice (though I'd also be very serious...oh, nevermind). I'm feeling very self concious right now.  
  
ORIGINAL NOTES; Ahhh, sappy romantic bliss! I simply don't think there's enough of it for Arwen and Aragorn. This is how they met and fell in love, according to the often weird, irrational thoughts in my head. Do not burn me at the stake for any possible 'misinterpretations' of their relationship I have made...I'm a rookie.  
Also, why is Arwen so emotional? Because, she has fallen in love, silly! Also, she is pre-menstrual (juuust kidding).  
  
P.S:I have only read the first book. Err, actually, I am on the chapter "Lothlorien". I've seen the movie 5.75 times, and this story is obviously more based on it. I wanted to develop their relationship further, and it helps that it is in what could possibly be the most romantic place in all the earths...Rivendell!  
  
THANK YOU TO...; Insomnia, diet coke, my dictionary of synonyms and antonyms, my Indian heritage for making me madly in love with nature (thus the urge to describe it), my obsessive preoccupation with ideal love, social anxiety disorder from keeping me isolated from all people and thus able to work in relative peace, and, of course, evil Peter Jackson for making the movie so addictive and wonderful, and J.R.R. Tolkien for creating the characters in the first place.   
  
P.P.S; I wrote this as a gift to myself and in inspiration of my 17th birthday, which was on April Fools Day. Go me. Yay. It is a labor of love; I spent the late nights (and early early mornings) of my spring break on it. I plan on writing more on their relationship, by the way. I have ideas on what their life 'happily ever after' will be like...  
Now, on to the story, which is a great deal more serious and flowery then I could ever hope to act around most people, but reflects an important part of myself I keep hidden.   
  
***************  
  
Arwen trailed up the hallway in a luminous blue gown sheathed in a veil of emerald lace. Her dusky hair glided and spun down her back, a demeanor of liquid silk. She noted someone she had not seen before, standing still but commandingly against the wall. Her lucid, summery blue eyes discreetly met his for a splintered second, where she found that he was watching her intently. She looked away, turning a corner into a secluded hallway. From there, she was free to discern the stranger in private. His eyes were now gazing reflectively across the room. In the shadows of flickering candle light, his high, regal cheekbones curved down into strong hollows.   
  
"Is that man the heir to the throne of Gondor? The one called Aragorn?" Arwen asked in a hushed voice to the faint foot steps that she heard behind her.  
  
"Yes, that is him indeed. How did you know?" Arwen glanced behind her, meeting eyes with her father.   
  
"He fits the description," she responded listlessly, and gazed at him once more.   
  
"He has come from my request. Yet the matter of affairs will not be challenged until later. Lately, he has been anxious to meet you." Arwen turned gracefully and faced her father, her eyes shining softly.   
  
"Is that so? We shall see," she said, and then emerged from the shadows of the hall as royally as she had learned, her step delicate and elegant as a felines. Aragorn noticed her with a start, his gaze locking with hers in admiration.   
  
"Lady Arwen," he said softly when she presumed her stance before him.   
  
"I welcome you Aragorn, son of Arathorn, to Rivendell," she said humbly, lifting her delicate hand which he received in his own, and kissed it softly. He looked up at her.  
  
"You are familiar with me," he stated, letting her delicate, white hand trail away from his.   
  
"Of course," she said with a lingering blink. "Why is it I only now meet you?" He hesitated, wondering the same thing.   
  
"I am bound to my duties as a ranger," he said finally, apologetically. "However, I have no intentions of moving onward for some time." She tilted her chin up, her slightly parted pink lips, upturned and expectant as a blushing rose. He marvelled at how sincere all the tales of her immense beauty were.   
  
"Then I am humbled that are first meeting shall be an enduring one."   
  
Thereafter, the festivities of the evening began. Arwen stood at her fathers side, and often observed Aragorns quiet position nearby, where a slight smile would touch his mouth and glint secretively into his eyes. It wasn't until later that evening that they met again.   
  
"My lady," he greeted, meeting her at the head of the hall during a rare quiet moment. She smiled softly in response.   
  
"Will you escort me outdoors? I would much like to talk with you."   
  
"It would be my honor," he said, and side by side, they disappeared from the hall. It was a warm, starlit night, and the waterfalls hissed and hummed beneath them in violet and golden ripples of glory.   
  
"There have been whispers amongst my people, and all of Middle Earth, that there is a darkness rising," Arwen began, "that Sauron lives. Tell me -- is this the truth?" She looked up at him urgently. Taken aback by such a forward and difficult question, Aragorn contemplated a carefully worded reply as he could manage.   
  
"I too have heard these whispers, and will not lie to you -- there is merit behind them. Queer things have been happening. But without the one ring, Sauron is powerless."   
  
"Yes," she replied reflectively, her eyes downcast in thought. "Yet that too concerns me. Where is this one ring?" she inquired, her eyes pleading with his.   
  
"I do not know," he admitted, wishing that he had it and could destroy it himself, if it would put her heart at ease. "No one knows. Not as of yet. But wherever it is, it exists in solitude from his knowledge, and all there is is to hope that it will remain as such." She nodded thoughtfully in reply, searching his eyes with a lingering silence. She blinked, and shook her head.   
  
"I am sorry that I speak of such dark things on our first meeting. But you are Aragorn, the ranger of the wild," she said, with a sly smile. "I knew that I could trust you to know of such happenings."   
  
"Do not apologize," he said graciously, "I am glad to be of assistance to you, in any respect."   
  
"In that case, would you be willing to escort me further? There is more that I wish to inquire."   
  
"Certainly," he said, with a delicately amused smile.   
  
"What brings you back to Rivendell?" she asked innocently as they padded down the marble steps toward the gardens.  
  
"Your father has summoned many for a private council, to discuss the concerns of the rumors of Sauron."   
  
"I see...I expected as much," she said solemnly. "Tell me," she said, her tone changing whimsically, "are you anxious to be the king of Gondor?"   
  
"I do not believe I ever will be," he admitted, lowering his eyes, thinking of Isildur. "It is not time." She looked at him admirably, then continued onward.   
  
"I have heard a great deal about you. You protect the area around The Shire, is that not so?" He nodded.   
  
"It is so. I have been there for many years."   
  
"I have rarely been out of Rivendell," she admitted with a forlorn sigh.  
  
"Do you want to leave?" She looked at him, alarmed. "Forgive me, I --"  
  
"No, do not apologize," she interrupted kindly, smiling up at him with a serene tenderness. "No one has ever asked that before. I have been waiting for someone to." She glanced dreamilly around at the exquisite wild flowers and ferns and vines, all lacing about the pure green grass. The waterfalls echoed nearby into the river. She closed her eyes and breathed in the sweet, refreshing air. They were stopped at the brink of the river, and he found himself gazing upon her with longing, and reverted his eyes to the sky when she opened hers.   
  
"I do not wish to leave..." she began tentatively. "But I also do wish to stay here all my years. I want adventure," she said passionately, a hint of fire in her eyes. "I have heard many tales from all who dwell here on what that word means....I want you to tell me now, if you would. Tell me of your own." He smothered a smirk with the back of his hand. To think of telling the tales that had been brewing and living in his mind for years to the luminous Arwen, who looked up at him with wide, captivating blue eyes, was almost more ravishing a thought then he could comprehend.   
  
"Of course, if you wish," he said softly, meeting her gaze for a silent moment of deep reverie.  
  
"Yes," she said meekly, a strange jump quickening her heart. "Please," she added, beginning to walk to the right. She blinked away the distant look in her eyes, and said, "Shall we?" holding out her arm. He took it graciously in his own, and began his storytelling.   
  
They walked the perimeter of the garden many times as he told her of his accounts with hobbits and dwarves and trolls; of Gandalf the wizard; and, for she begged him, of the darker tales that he had encountered from Mordor, from the orcs he had battled, to those unfortunate nine men who had once bared rings themselves, but were now dangerous, dark ring wraiths.   
  
"I have never seen an orc in person, nor have I seen much else," she said, with a tone that was closer to regret then to thankfulness.   
  
"Which is very fortunate," he said firmly, though not unkindly. They were now walking over one of many bridges across the purple, velvety depths of water below. "They are hideous, ruthless creatures," he reminded her.   
  
"Yes, I do not doubt it," she said, her eyes dancing with impish light. "And I realize that you know more of these things then I ever could. Yet, while I do not wish to be challenged by one of those beasts, I cannot help but believe that something is missing from my soul. A deep, unanswered desire," she said with a sigh, peering across the distant horizon, her hair fluttering against her flushed cheek in the breeze.   
  
"All of us have unanswered desires," he told her, staring into her lowered, dreaming eyes.   
  
"Yes, I suppose so," she said, looking up at him sweetly. "I can fight. I know how to use a sword."   
  
"You do, now?" he asked, not as much surprised as intrigued.   
  
"Yes," she said, smirking, and leant her head back, so her hair would fan out against the wind. "I train independently, mostly in secret. My father knows, and he sees no harm in it, though I doubt he would ever approve of me taking my 'talents' out into the wild." But Aragorn doubted that, as he imagined her drawing her sword. It seemed strangely natural. The fire in her eyes, in her very presence, made the image of her as a warrior second nature.   
  
"Do you believe I can fight?" she asked him, as if she had read his thoughts and now desired verbal confirmation.   
  
"Yes, I do," he replied earnestly. She smiled cordially at him, wondering if he was honest, this man with the unkempt, but ruggishly attractive hair, strong mouth and penetrating, steely blue eyes. A man who knew his fair share about fighting.  
  
"Is it true," she began, a smile engagingly lifting the corners of her lips, "that you have been anxious to meet me?"   
  
"Yes," he admitted without delay or regret. "All who hear of you wish to be in your presence," he confided. Though now that he had met her himself, he wished that he had invitation to caress her cheek, to kiss her fluttering eyelids, to run his fingers through her silky hair. He smothered the thoughts from his mind.  
  
"Then we have something in common," she responded with a hint of affection.   
  
"Lady Arwen..." he started, blinking out of his deep, wishful thoughts, "I can hardly be compared to you."   
  
"Do not doubt yourself!" she said, with some alarm. She pressed her warm, smooth hands against his cheeks, and said in a vehement whisper, "I have desired to meet you from the day I first heard of you. I regard you on high for your bravery. And now, I can regard you for your kindness and honor as well." At length, as their eyes remained locked in mutual tenderness, she retrieved her hands, stroking them over his strong, sloping cheekbones. He caught them in his hands. Her heart quickened at his touch, and she began to breath in discreet, shallow intervals.  
  
"To have you say such kind words to me..." His heart wanted him to say something along the lines of, 'is the most fortunate, inspiring, meaningful event in all my long, isolated and lonely years' but instead trailed off into a silence. He brought her hands graciously to his lips and kissed them fondly, breathing in her pure, rich scent.   
  
"I meant every word," she said breathlessly when his eyes met hers once more.   
  
"As did I," he replied, brushing his fingers delicately over her firm, regal cheek. Her eyes fluttered shut momentarily, and after standing on the bridge a lingering moment longer, she surveyed the rising moon and reluctantly asked, "Would you escort me indoors?"   
  
"Of course," he replied, with a soft nod, and they returned to the hall, arm in arm, out of the now brisk night, which they had hardly noticed.   
  
  
  
The following evening, after the tireless council had finally come to an exhausted 'recess' with word to continue the next day, Aragorn walked up the flights of stairs toward Arwens room. The hallway was blinking with candle light and echoed with emptiness, but when he found himself on her appointed wing, she was waiting patiently and regally by a closed door.   
  
"Hello again, Aragorn," she said cordially. She wore a light white gown that trailed behind her, and her hair was completely free and flowed down in dark sheets of silk.   
  
"Greetings, Lady Arwen," he replied. He followed her into the room, which was illuminated by a hushed but enduring fire in the corner. Long dove white curtains shuddered translucently in the late summer breeze, veiling the royal blue of night. She settled into a silver armed chair, and he sat in the one across from her, their feet nearly touching. She looked at him with deep, insistent urgency.   
  
"Tell me all that you can, and wish to," she requested with clasped hands. He sighed, wishing he had better news.  
  
"There has been word that someone has the ring in their possession. The dark forces behind Sauron will not rest until this one is found."   
  
"Have they any clues to who it may be?"   
  
"All that is known is that the most vile of Saurons servants have been most dominantly situated in the Misty Mountains. That is where the ring is...or was." Arwen replied by settling into a troubled silence. She rose, and went to gaze listlessly past the faint, mingling folds of curtains. He came to her, and took her hands gently into his own.   
  
"I am agonized to be the one to have troubled you with such things," he said with deep regret, "but know this; I will make certain the moment that the ring is discovered that it is purged into the fires of Mordor, if I have to bring it there myself." She looked up at him, her eyes faintly touched by the sting of tears.   
  
"And I trust you would, with all my soul," she whispered mournfully, "But I hope it does not come to that."   
  
"As do I," he admitted. "But it very well might. And I will be up for it."   
  
"I only wish that I could be of some assistance in all of this," she said torridly. The tears finally spilled over, and streamed down her cheeks, but she ignored them. "Until Sauron is completely abolished can Middle Earth truly be in peace."   
  
"And he will be," Aragorn assured her. "It will be."   
  
"Yes, and I trust you," she said with conviction rising over her sadness. "Yet I cannot help being fearful. I do not wish to see such dark times."   
  
"They will not prevail. Evil is weak. I have seen this if nothing else in all the years I have been a ranger. Evil destroys all, and inevitably, that means it will one day destroy itself. Yet, as long as I live, I will not let it get even that far."   
  
"You feel it your personal burden, I know," she said softly. "Being Isildurs heir, you, more then any other, would want to see that ring destroyed."   
  
"Yes, it is true," he admitted, his eyes lowering in concentration. "I am haunted by his fate. The ring has power in which is nearly unbearable to ignore. To give into."   
  
"Your heart is pure," she said firmly. "I could tell the first time I looked into your eyes. By your presence. Whatever weakness Isildur had...it was lost on you." He looked insistently into her eyes, and tenderly stroked a strand of her long dark hair behind her perfect pointed ear, and kissed her gently on her cheek, slowly and meaningfully. She closed her eyes, a small fire of passion blinking into her soul. The moment froze time in its flight. She wanted to pull him closer, feel his soft lips on her own...she sighed the thought away, and blinked against his skin. When he pulled reluctantly away, she looked him steadily and deeply in his eyes.   
  
"I will return to you at dusk, tomorrow," he promised softly. She nodded absently. He bowed to her, and was gone.   
  
  
  
  
The following twilight, Arwen was was on the balcony behind the pallid curtains, a sword firmly in her hand. She paced back and forth, gazing out into the lavender sky, keeping her ears keenly aware of any sign of Aragorn. She wore a sleek crimson gown, with quarter long sleeves, and a matching silk sheath that was clasped around her neck. Her long bangs were braided on either side, and were pulled back into a delicate halo on top of her head. She unsheathed the sword, held it up against the darkening sky, and it reflected the light of the moon, as well as a sudden subtle movement in the room behind her. She discreetly placed the sword on the railing, and turned her back gracefully to the curtains. She heard his footsteps echo across the stone, until they were right behind her. She turned and smiled up at him affectionately.   
  
"Aragorn."   
  
"Lady Arwen." He noticed the sword laying on the railing, and a curious, sly smile flashed in his eyes. "What are you planning?" She looked casually at the sword, and lifted it effortlessly into her delicate hands.   
  
"I was merely practicing," she said loftily, then slipped the sword swiftly into it's sheath, which she promptly tied around her waist with her shawl. "Will you follow me? I want to bring you somewhere." He looked at her with intrigue.   
  
"Certainly," he replied vaguely, watching as she elegantly strode down the steps after giving him a final serene glance. His imagination was sent drifting with all of his possible predictions to what she had in mind. But he honestly didn't know.  
  
She led him through the garden, and across the bridges, to the most captivating waterfall in Rivendell. It was a deep purple out now, and the fall towered over them in swift currents of icy, frothy water. They stood at the edge of the pool, as Arwen skillfully crossed a trail of stones that lined it, until she was right to the falls edge. Aragorn followed, and arrived just as she decided to pass under the fall, and out of sight. A sudden alarm coursed through his veins, but he quieted it by briskly striding behind her. There, he found himself in one of the most beautiful sights in Rivendell that he had ever wondered at. It was a cave, but not the usual murky, muddy, cold one. It was lined with clovers on the floor, and vines on the walls, which had pink blossoms pressing from beneath them. There were small pools of purple, blue and emerald water, velvety and luminous in faint light which poured from an unknown source. It was utterly still and silent; intoxicating. The veil of water before them was the best of all, a purple sheath of hissing, flowing silk. It was a great, sweeping space. And in the middle of it all was Arwen, her hair romantically dripping past her ears and down her back, her cheeks flushed from the cold, and a tranquil smile on her lips and in her eyes.   
  
"This," she said with a sweeping motion, "is where I train." He walked slowly towards her, scanning everything with his darting eyes before he stopped in front of her.   
  
"And it is most perfect," he confessed. She closed her eyes and breathed in the wet, cold, flowery air.   
  
"I have brought no one here before," she admitted quietly. "It has always been my sanctuary."   
  
"Why do you bring me hear now?" he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.  
  
"I want you to know where it is. I feel, in my heart, that I had to bring you here." She glanced up at a trail that tapered upwards, and into shadow. "Come with me," she whispered, and reached for his hand. "There is much left to see." He took her hand, and they descended forward.  
  
They walked along a narrow aisle, lined with a lush carpet of grass and flowers, rabbits and squirrels rustling in the bushes.   
  
"Aragorn," Arwen murmured. "How long do you mean to stay here in Rivendell?"   
  
"I would stay here the rest of my years, if I could...yet, it seems that will not be. Not for some time. Not until after the ring is destroyed. And when I must betake that journey? I unfortunately do not know."   
  
"I ask, for I have come to treasure your company. You are a kindred spirit, Aragorn." She gave him an alluring glance. "I dreamt of you last night." Aragorn hid his surprise with a curious smirk.   
  
"You did, now?"   
  
"Yes. I dreamt we were here, but that we did not know each other. We fought with our swords, and since you didn't want to risk hurting a woman, your grip was not substantial, and I disarmed you." Aragorn pictured the scene in his mind. He looked at her sneakily.   
  
"Then I suppose you dream fairly accurately," he concluded. "For though I may risk hurting a lady, if she were a murderer or perhaps out of her right mind, I would never risk hurting you." Her eyes sparkled in understanding.  
  
"I know."   
  
A faint shimmer of purple light was nearing, and they stepped out of the cave onto a landing of soft downy grass onto the top of the very waterfall they had travelled under. It's stream trickled past them, and into the lucid channels below. Arwen stood near the edge, and peered over the water purring into the soft, silent dusk. The garden stretched below, past where the falls met in pools of stifled lavender mist. In the distant horizon, the sun was only a faint murmur, pink and golden in the clouds. A gentle, warm breeze stirred Arwens hair, and hummed in the grass.  
  
"This is my most beloved part..." she sighed. "I disregard my desire for adventure when I revel in the beauty of what is before me."   
  
"As do I," he said, looking at her.   
  
"Tell me," she said, still fixed at the world below. "What news was there at the council?"   
  
"None, ill or otherwise," he answered, facing her majestically, relieved he could tell her so. "Only much arguing." She turned to him, and strode close.   
  
"That, for once, puts my heart at ease," she said softly. "For I do not wish to think of the ring, or of Sauron. We exist here away from that world," she said, glancing down at the sleeping scene below.   
  
"And I have missed Rivendell," he confessed, gazing in awe with her. "Never, in all of my travelling, am I yet to find a land that compares." He looked at her sincerely. "You are not at a loss, Lady Arwen. Adventure pales to this."   
  
"I suppose you must be right," she said dreamilly. "Though I still feel as though I am a caged bird."   
  
"And I wish I could release you from it."   
  
"You can," she said intently, turning to him with haunting eyes, focalized by her suddenly heavy eyelids. She looked down, and took his hands gently in hers, before looking slowly into his eyes. "Adventure is whatever one makes of it." She paused, and pressed closer to him. "In my dream, Aragorn, you kissed me," she whispered. "Would you kiss me now?" His eyes turned steely with a disbelieving flame. She looked up at him with doleful eyes, suavely exalting a slender eyebrow. Clutching her hands to his chest and pulling her close, he marvelled down at her. She closed her eyes as he traced his fingers over her delicate jaw line and leaned close, achingly but deliberately gradual as his lips enclosing over her own, softly and soothingly. She surrendered herself against him, as he kissed her in sensuous, abundant swells of desire, savoring her voluptuous, soft lips. The lushness of it enraptured her soul into a stirring of feverish craving, that rushed through her veins, and quickened her heart. When they parted, they met each others eyes in a state of mystification, Arwen blinked lightly up at him, her hair brushing against his cheek. She grazed her hand across his lips, and brushed her mouth over them again, kissing him deep and longingly, as his hands traced across her cheek, and into her hair. When the moment dissolved, they were feather close, blinking against the vivid ethereal night, and into each others eyes.   
  
"I might say, Lady Arwen, that you had this all planned out," he muttered against her ear. She smiled demurely and caressed her long, nimble fingers across his chin and down his neck.  
  
"I may have," she murmured back slyly, before she leant against his shoulder, and he held her close. There they remained, side by side, in the darkening night.   
  
  
  
Arwen had awoken and found herself compelled to return to the cave, to the overlooking cliff. The sun rose in pale splinters of gray and rose, with swooping cascades of honey and gold. The air was cool and reviving, stirring all life to a sweet, humming start. Arwen sat cleanly on a flat, smooth stone which frayed the base of the stream, and dipped her fingers into it's purple and midnight hued depths. Her long blue gown, frayed at the ends with lingering strands of satin and silver beads, fanned out against her bare, ashen feet. On the ground nearby was her sword, which she had planted upright and tall before she had left the night before. She drew it gently out and held it curiously, looking at her reflection in it's glinting steel mirror. She then cast it slowly out against the water, before dropping it in. It sunk to the bottom, and pinned itself between a pair of rocks. She rose to her feet, and began towards the entrance to the cave, when she heard a distinct, but definite noise from within. The echo of metal hissing into the ground, as if from armor...she paused, and flattened herself against the wall of the cave, listening closer. She then heard high pitched, rambling whispers. Then her eyes darted up to the roof of the cave, and a pair of sharp, putrid green eyes, narrowed and wild, against a shrunken, muddy face poked from over its edge. A flat nose followed, then yellow fangs which gnarled from the beasts mouth like daggers.   
  
"You should have kept your sword," it hissed. She drew in a sharp breath, but kept her lips pursed firmly shut. She backed away, her dark wavy hair flowing behind her.   
  
"You cannot escape," another voice said as three more of the creatures appeared from the cave, and lined up fiercely beside each other. The one from the roof hopped down, and began to stalk closer. Arwen backed away, her eyes narrowed, her hands fanned out behind her.   
  
"You are wrong," she mumbled harshly, before turning and flinging herself gracefully off the cliff, in line with the fall, arms outstretched, whirring in the air, before landing in the water. The monsters all burst after her, splashing close behind, as she leapt from the pool, and sprang on her light, elven feet, nearly flying, across the garden. They tailed her, always little more then a few feet away, scrambling on their short, pattering legs, hissing and growling and shrieking all the way. When she neared the stairs, one vaulted onto the railing, and then lunged towards her, where she whipped it aside with all the strength she had in her arm. With the delay, the others were now nipping at her feet, and one ripped off a better part of the bottom tailings of her gown when she burst through the white veil curtains of her room. There she found several hundred more of them, all hanging off the ceiling, crawling in the door, bursting in from the balcony. They surrounded her in a tight, jeering circle. Then an eye made of flame, long and tremendous, unwavering, gust into the room like an abyss at the curtains, nearing closer and closer...  
  
"No!" she gasped, sitting suddenly upright in her bed, blinking wide eyed. The curtains murmured in the breeze, her room empty of orcs, of anything unusual. A humming, serene silence was abound. She snuck from under the covers, and walked to the balcony, peering over the railing into the purple midnight.   
  
It was achingly still and soft, the ferns rustling tenderly, the leaves of the willows careening against the lapping stream in the garden, petals of pink wild flowers drifting aimlessly upon it, all illuminated by the sharp white splinter of the moon. Arwens eyes keenly observed every bridge, every mountain ledge, every trail, hoping to see Aragorn out in the night, open to her company. She closed her eyes tightly as she remembered the dream. It was not the first time she had experienced one like it.   
  
"I wish you were near, Aragorn..." she whispered to the faint breeze that brushed against her lips. As she turned back towards her room, she heard a loud, distinctive hiss that pumped a sudden surge of cold fear through her body. She returned to the railing on quiet, careful feet, and peered narrow eyed against the night. Everything still appeared tranquil. Her eyes scanned the landscape skillfully, when suddenly, a splinter of fierce movement was caught from the corner of her acute vision. It was a shadow, crawling and leaping from tree to tree, until it hopped behind the peak of her waterfall, and was gone.   
  
She hurried into her room and out the door, into the dark, shadow stricken hallway. She stood still, her eyes darting about the cabalistic, painful silence of the chamber, before she bounded down many flights of stairs towards Aragorns room, where she hesitated outside his door. She tapped upon it lightly.  
  
"...Yes?" his voice called hesitantly.   
  
"Aragorn? It is Arwen." She needed to say nothing more, for he rushed to the door and swung it open in moments.   
  
"Arwen? What has happened?" he asked, seeing her troubled expression.   
  
"I thought I must tell you immediately that I saw something outside. I believe it was an orc, and that there may be more lurking about." His eyes narrowed darkly.   
  
"I have been feeling for days that something has been watching me, watching us, watching Rivendell...others in the council have admitted uneasiness as well. They are spying on us." He began to stride down the hall, and she followed at his side.  
  
"I have seen creatures lurk the borders of Rivendell many times, but never have any dared to wander so close," she said.  
  
"Yes, it is certainly suspicious." She followed him into her room.   
  
"I saw whatever it was go behind that waterfall there..." she said, pointing towards it, then looking up at him with anguished, but loving eyes, her hand dropping to her side. "Our waterfall." He returned the look, and drew her close to him, kissing her softly on her head.   
  
"I must go after it," he said quietly, and started towards the balcony.   
  
"Wait!" Arwen called. "I will go as well."   
  
"No," he said firmly. "It may not be safe. It may even be a trap..." She hushed him by drawing close, tracing her fingers over his lips.   
  
"I have no fear," she whispered, clutching the elf stone around her neck. "What is it they could do to me? I am afraid you have no choice," she said, wrapping a shawl from her bedside table about her shoulders. "I am coming with you." He met her eyes in silent understanding, and accepted defeat.   
  
They trailed briskly to the waterfall and underneath it's dusky stream, into the cave, which swallowed them in immediate darkness. Neither were afraid, not for themselves; but Aragorn clasped his hand protectively over Arwens, as they cautiously and hushedly crept up the trail, and into the violet slate of night.   
  
Before them, the stream of water flowed in a hiss, and the wind blew in vicious torrents. Arwens hair fluttered about her face as she turned and looked ominously at the roof of the cave, reminded horribly of her all too recent nightmare. Aragorn tightened his grip on his sword, which was unsheathed and in his left hand, his right still fixedly holding onto Arwen. He stared up at the moss glazen, shadowy realm atop the cave, seeming empty and innocent. Then a snap of a twig, followed by an unearthly hiss, startled them both to wide eyed attention. A shadow suddenly leapt from the top of the cave, and flew over their heads, where Aragorn slashed it with his sword as by reflex, and it landed on the ground, dead. Arwen drew in a shudder of a breath, for the creature mirrored that of the one in her dream, down to every detail.  
  
"There are more of them, that I am certain. They will be found," Aragorn muttered, his eyes scanning the surrounding darkness. Arwen stared down at the hideous, murdered orc on her most precious and sacred ground.   
  
"This is an epoch, Aragorn, and not a pleasant one," she said faintly.  
  
When they returned hurriedly indoors, Aragorn alerted the other members of the council, and several of them went into the dark to find where the other orcs were hiding. Arwen stayed behind with Elrond, in the long, dimly lit hall where she first met Aragorn. She kept her eyes downcast in worried thought, except to glance discreetly to the arched window at her side.   
  
"Aragorn will leave after this," she murmured suddenly.   
  
"Yes. He will return to the wild. The threat has grown too strong; there is no other choice," Elrond replied.   
  
"Yes..." she wearily replied. She trailed to the window and peered past the crimson curtains. Elrond came and stood next to her.   
  
"He will return," he said at length. "He is bound to Rivendell...in more then one respect." He looked at her with subtle knowing. Arwen flushed, and turned towards him with sparkling eyes.   
  
"I know."   
  
  
  
  
The pale gray and golden dawn emerged in shrouded radiance. Clouds smothered the sky in heavy silver streaks. Arwen had watched as the night faded into a royal purple, then lavender, and finally into the overcast, dreary sunrise. She had returned to her room to sift restlessly upon the balcony, then found herself crossing the bridges over the garden, before the waterfalls. When the rain finally came in soft, blurred mists, she watched as it rippled into the waters below.   
  
Her ears sensed it first; his familiar step, quiet yet commanding. She could feel him drawing closer. She bound herself to to a state of silent, ignorant bliss. She feared the sudden, overwhelming dread and despair that had burned into her soul. It wasn't until his shadow pooled over her that she turned to look at him.   
  
"Aragorn," she said faintly. He was so close to her; she could smell the musky scent of the woods on him. She blinked up into his eyes, his seeming as mournful as hers, their steely blue demeanor turned soft with tenderness. There was silence now, save for the lulling hiss of rain, when he traced his finger soothingly over the gentle curve of her cheek. He turned her chin upwards softly, and leant forward, grazing his lips over hers. He went slow, savoring her rain dewed mouth in deep, luscious kisses. She closed her eyes tightly, feeling the sting of tears in her eyes, and held his face between her hands, responding with vigor.   
  
When they parted, their lips still achingly close, Arwen blinked her eyes open, her heart throbbing in quickened longing against her chest. Aragorn slipped his hand from off her face, and curved it against her hair. She closed her eyes again, tears beginning to spill down her cheeks. He stroked them away, hushing her with his lips against the corner of her mouth.   
  
"I will return to you," he whispered. "Have no doubt. Our parting will not be lasting." She leant her head against his shoulder and he pulled her close.   
  
"I know," she murmured back, another tear sloping from her eye. "We only just met three moons ago, yet I knew, from the start, that I would love you." She looked up at him with agonized but determined eyes. "And I shall bind myself to you, forever. Forsake the immortal life of my people." His eyes burned with desire and affection.   
  
"You cannot mean that..."   
  
"I do," she said vehemently. "And I will." He kissed her adoringly on her cheek, for a lingering moment.   
  
"And I bind myself to you," he said tenderly. He then drew softly away   
from her and after a lingering deep gaze, and turned reluctantly but decisively away, and began to leave. Arwen clasped her hands together, and stared wide eyed at him, fading away from her.   
  
"Wait!" she cried, and trotted after him. Right as he turned, she took his face in her hands, and kissed him in feverish, ravenous crescendos of desire. He savored her soft, exquisite lips, responding in a mirroring state of yearning. He pulled her achingly close, her hands reaching up and fanning out about his neck.  
  
At long last they separated, breathless and enraptured, gazing into each others eyes. With a final stroke of her cheek he turned, and strode away, into the shimmering, silver mists of rain. Arwen watched until she could see him no longer, then whispered, "Good bye, Aragorn." She closed her eyes and turned away, to their waterfall. "For now," she added, blinking up   
at its hushed, lavender serenity. 


End file.
